Exposed Secret -2- "So Sparkly...! Flash. Flash."

Lounging in bed had become the young lady's full-time job, but now she had a new hobby. A luxurious pastime of holding her necklace up to the sunlight filtering through the window. Her face brightened day by day as she admired its iridescent sheen. A beaming smile played on her lips. Her purse was plump.

"100,000 gold... If I sell this, that's 100,000 gold!"

Watching her flash that materialistic grin, I thought to myself,

'Good thing I gave it to her as a gift.'

If I'd said, "No gift for you, miss," I probably would've spent a week staring at a wilted spinach version of her... Three months ago, she'd caught me sneaking fried chicken from the market behind her back, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she'd turned into spinach for a whole day—pure agony. To calm her down, I'd offered up chocolate and bath salts. I couldn't remember the exact amount, but it was a hefty pile.

-I'm not bathing. Might as well go from clean bum to filthy homeless, since that's what I am anyway.

She wriggled on the bed like a caterpillar, one with humanity fully abandoned, reveling in her idle life. I asked her,

"That good, huh?"

"Mm. Super sparkly."

"Planning to sell it later?"

"N-no... Not yet."

She tucked the necklace between her breasts. Embracing it close to her generous heart. Looking at it, I thought,

'Fuck, I'm jealous.'

Lately, I'd been getting jealous of mere objects. It pissed me off that some trinket was getting perks even I, her butler, couldn't enjoy. Absolutely not because I'm a perv who likes boobs—it's the perks... the perks, I tell you.

"Heehee... 100,000 gold. Ten years' worth of meat."

She clutched the necklace tight, grinning ear to ear. Patting her full belly like some cheapskate uncle with dried fish on the table for every meal, using it as a side dish. She looked like a total fool, giggling away. Must be so satisfying just looking at it that her stomach felt full.

I left her like that in the room and grabbed the sword I'd stashed in the corner.

"Where you going?"

"Sword practice. Body's getting stiff lately."

"Practice?"

She tilted her head, giving me that look—like, you, the guy who skipped sword classes at the academy, suddenly practicing? It was hard to make excuses since my delinquent days were all too real. The instructor discriminated against commoners, so I skipped. I'd barely drawn a sword in front of her, fingers could count the times. She was a brilliant mage with zero interest in swords, and showing her my plain style felt off. Not like Mikhail's heavy, awe-inspiring strikes or the flashy Histania techniques—mine were crude and monotonous, so yeah, kinda embarrassing.

"Where you practicing?"

"In the yard."

I pointed out the sunlit mansion yard visible from her second-floor window. She stared at me blankly. A face full of laziness. The second I mentioned going outside, she looked annoyed, like I'd drag her along. Frowning at the bright sunlight outside, not even hiding her disgust—it made me chuckle.

I asked,

"Wanna come out with me?"

She shook her head vigorously.

"No way. The sun's pissed off. Go out and I'm toast."

"Just say you're too lazy to go."

"...That obvious?"

"Yep."

Caught red-handed, she flopped straight back onto the bed and shooed me away with a flick of her hand.

"Shoo—shoo—"

Sunlight poured down on the yard. I rolled my right shoulder like a windmill to loosen up. Ever since the fight with Ballack, I'd felt my skills lacking against greatsword users, so here I was to patch those holes.

I looked up at the young lady watching from the second floor. She was munching chocolate with a crunch-crunch.

I waved lightly.

"Miss, where'd you get that chocolate?"

"Chocolate?"

She puffed out her chest proudly and pointed right at it with a finger.

"Right here."

Made me jealous of chocolate today, too.

I warmed up quick. Swinging the sword in figure-eights to loosen my wrists. Stretching my legs out. Once my stiff body softened, I gripped the hilt right-handed.

The alert rang out. I recalled the last battle in my head.

-This young swordsman blocks that too?

A heavy downward chop.

-Impressive. Taking that weight.

My hands trembling as I blocked, the greatsword inches from my face. Every time Ballack swung down, I got pushed back. Imagining his phantom before me, I gripped my sword straight.

Greatsword wielders have brute strength. Each strike like a hammer blow—heavy enough to snap a blade if blocked wrong. Same in our last fight. I envisioned Ballack with his wide reach and explosive aura. Pure offense ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in his stance—I swallowed dryly.

'What a real monster.'

If not for Yuria, I'd have bolted without looking back. Seeing him again stirred my fighting spirit.

'Alright, let's do this.'

I'm short on technique. Habits too ingrained to fix without a master, and too much experience etched in my body to overhaul from scratch. My only gifts: Weaponless Genius and a broad canvas for learning. Plenty painted already, but lots of blank space left. Filled by battles and strong foes.

I gripped the sword.

'Here goes.'

Tension humming. All focus on the blade. Vowing not to get pushed this time, power from my core.

I swung explosively.

Whoosh.

Imagining slicing Ballack, full force. His phantom swung its greatsword wide, just like before.

The clash—

-Clang!

My sword slipped from my grip like nothing, and his phantom cleaved my throat.

Huh?

An awkward pause. Sword on the ground. Right hand shaking.

I stared at the fallen sword, then my hand, back and forth.

"What... the hell?"

I picked it up, reset my stance. Gripping hard enough to creak, vowing not to drop it.

Swing again—

-Clang.

It fell limp again. Hunched over, I swallowed. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Cold sweat. Fingertips trembling with unease.

Something's wrong. Why won't my right hand grip? I ate fine this morning—why's it disobeying?

Forced a awkward smile, glanced at the second floor. Luckily, she hadn't noticed, happily munching chocolate. I sighed in relief.

She yelled down at my frozen self: come up already if not practicing—let's admire the necklace together.

I straightened, stared at the sword a bit longer, sighed deep, and headed inside.

My right hand trembled on.

Waited till the shaking stopped, then stood before her door.

-The wardrobe?

-Yeah. Chocolate cake and... get it ready.

Jingle...

-Here's the money.

-No, milady! If you take ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠money from there...

-It's fine. I got plenty.

-It's not about the money... And that's way too much.

-Tip. But you gotta do exactly what I asked.

The young lady was having a meaningful chat with the maid. Couldn't catch every whisper, but piecing it together, she was sending her on an errand. Her, ordering errands...? Wondered where all that chocolate came from—turns out the maid was the supplier. Catching her black-market dealings, I smirked.

'Naughty girl.'

Didn't wanna ruin her little joys. She learns economics, maid gets tips—win-win. I'd watch a bit longer.

Three minutes of talk, then the maid's polite farewell as she left for other duties.

-I'll have it ready by the date you said.

-Yeah. Thanks.

-Creak.

Door opened. The middle-aged maid and I locked eyes.

"Butler...!"

"Shh. Quiet."

I pressed a finger to my lips, silencing her.

And so time flew—three days passed.